Now and Then
by Faith Evans
Summary: Ryan's thoughts on his past and present. A bit of RyanKirsten closeness that the show never really gave us.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Someone else created the characters, this is just a little something I dreamed up in response to those characters. **

**A/N: So, not all of this is completely accurate but I was going for a feeling rather than an event. Forgive the little bit's of fantasy and please enjoy. **

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When I was a kid, my mom always made me clean the kitchen. I almost never used the kitchen, but I always had to clean it. I would come home from school and find every dish in the house dirty and piled on the counter and there were always tins of something; half empty and congealing in the warm California sun. I would spend hours cleaning, making everything spotless and shining, knowing that if I did not, my mother would always be there to remind me that I was an awful son, knowing that if I did, no one would notice but at least I would not get yelled at.

I still clean the kitchen sometimes. But no one ever asks me too and no one yells if I do not and on the days that my mom comes home and catches me cleaning anything, she smiles at me and kisses my head. She tells me that I really do not have to do that, that my job is to do my homework and play video games but thank you very much, she really appreciates it when I help out around the house. Sometimes, when she has had a trying day at work, she will take my hand and lead me away from my project and take me to her car. She will hand me her keys and climb into the passenger seat and direct me to her favourite coffee shop or to the little park a few blocks from our house. We will sit for hours and she always asks about my day first, and then tells me about hers and then she smiles and tells me that I am a wonderful person and that she's very lucky to have me in her life. And then I will blush, I blush every times she says it, and she says it every time we go to the park or to the coffee shop.

When I was a kid, my mom would go out at night and come home drunk, stumbling in during the early hours of morning. She was never the quiet sort of drunk and I always woke up the minute she walked in the door. I would hold her hair while she purged the alcohol from her stomach and leave water and Advil on her bedside table before going back to my own bed to try and salvage a few hours of sleep.

Now, it is me who comes home drunk, stumbling in during the early hours of morning. My mom is always home before me. Always. She sighs and rubs my back as I pay homage to the porcelain gods and there is always Gatorade and a banana beside my bed when I wake up. And when I finally drag myself into the main house, she is always there, with a steaming mug of coffee and a bottle of Advil at the ready. She will wait till the day begins to fade and the sky is orange with the setting sun before she sits me down on a kitchen stool and asks me how I am feeling. She gives me a sad smile and tells me that she hates watching me be sick and that she wishes that I would not do that to myself, but that I am not in trouble, she remembers being my age and she understands. She tells me to get to bed early and then she kisses my forehead and leaves me sitting in the kitchen. It always ends with a kiss and I am always in the kitchen.

When I was a kid, we never had much in the way of money but my mom always wanted something special for her birthday. For months, I would save all the money I could find. I would collect bottles and cans for the deposit and save as much of my lunch money as I could without starving myself. I would search the little "_antique"_ stores in our neighbourhood and go to all the yard sales and flea markets and look at every piece of jewellery and every silver tea set before finally selecting one piece, the most expensive, fancy piece I could afford and I would wrap it as neatly as I could and finally present it to my mom on her birthday. But it was never good enough. It was never old enough, never new enough, never gold or silver enough for her.

My bank account is always full now. Always brimming with money I never know what to do with. I used to work in the summer time and I tried to keep a job over the school year, but I eventually gave that up. Every Monday morning my mom leaves $50 on my bedside table. Job or no job, it is always there and even if I tell her I do not need it, it is still there. She tells me it is her job as my mom to make sure that I have enough money for everything I need. Last year, I spent weeks searching for the perfect birthday present for her. I went to jewellery stores and antique stores, the kind that sell legitimate antiques, but nothing felt right. Nothing jumped out at me and screamed MOM. I searched department stores and the fancy boutiques that she liked but my efforts seemed fruitless. Nothing my money could buy seemed to be good enough, so I gave her something money couldn't buy, I gave her my love. I gave her a card, and a bouquet of flowers and I wrote her a letter. I told her how much I loved her and how grateful I was for everything that she had done for me and I told her how everything she did seemed to make my life just a little bit better. She cried when she read the letter, her tears staining the paper and her smile lighting the room. She hugged me tighter than she had ever hugged me before and claimed to have just received the best birthday gift a mother could ask for.

I remember being eight and falling off my bike. I skinned my knees and had rocks in my palm and my brother had to pull me off the ground and walk me back to the house. My mom was in the living room when we got there and she sighed at the sight of my blood. She took me into the bathroom and cleaned my wounds and carefully dug the rocks from my hands. She handed me a tissue and told me to stop crying. Crying was for babies and I was a big boy now. I should know better than to cry.

I play soccer now. Varsity, second line centre, and when I got hurt in a game last month, my mom was on the field before the coach was. She saw my elbow and very nearly carried me to the car. She asked me if I was okay a million times and broke a dozen traffic laws on the way to the hospital. She paced the waiting room and yelled at the receptionist until a doctor finally came to see me. Her perfectly manicured nails were chewed beyond recognition by the time my x-rays came back and she insisted on immediate surgery the moment they told her it was dislocated. I was in and out before I knew it, but mom had drunk 4 cups of coffee and driven 3 nurses to madness in the short time it took to repair my elbow. The instant my cast was dry and there was a prescription for an anti-inflammatory and a mild pain killer in my hand, mom had me home and resting on the couch. She sent my brother to fill the prescription and groceries were soon to be delivered and instead of leaving me to feel sorry for myself, she sat beside me and told me about the time she broke her wrist. She told me that she cried herself to sleep three nights in a row because it hurt so badly. She said that she did not want me to do that and if it hurt, I should tell her and she would make it feel better and make sure that I never had to cry alone. I could not bring myself to tell her that I was practically grown up, that I could take care of myself, that I do not cry. And I could not bring myself to send her to her own bed when she settled in to sleep on the couch next to my bed that first night.

When I was sixteen, I helped my brother steal a car. I spent the night in jail and was assigned a really nice lawyer before my mom came to pick me up. She took me home and told me to pack a bag; it was bad enough that her children were criminals, she was not going to have one living under her roof. She stood at my bedroom door and tapped her foot impatiently as I grabbed a few changes of clothes. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched me walk out the front door, her eyes cold and I knew she meant it that time. She had kicked me out before, but that time I knew it was final. She really did not want me anymore. I called everyone I knew, but no one was home, or no one had room for me; no one wanted to be responsible for a 16 year old car thief.

My lawyer picked me up and took me home to his wife and son. His wife looked at me with muted disdain and his son wanted to play grand theft auto and they told me I could stay in the pool house. They found my mother and later they dressed us up and took us out and my mother waved good bye when she left the next morning. My mother was an alcoholic, into and out of drugs, whenever she could afford it, but she was a good person. She knew she had made mistakes and she knew I would be better off with a family that could support me. She talked to my lawyers wife. They were going to send me to a good school, make sure I stayed out of trouble, give me the life my mom always wanted for me. She, essentially, gave me away.

And I thank god everyday that she did. She gave me the greatest gift anyone could ever have given me. She gave me a mom who has never, and will never, give up on me. She gave me a family to love, and who loves in return. She gave me the dream I had not allowed myself to dream.


End file.
